Harry Who?
by DaughterofHades16
Summary: AU. Three-way x-over: DW/HP/The Borrowers, but you don't have to read the Borrowers to understand it. Harry Potter is raised by a borrower named Skyla. Hogwarts is lost without its hero, and the Doctor has to fix it. Rated T just in case.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own DW, HP, or the Borrowers. I wish.**

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><p>Wizards are not the only people that are a secret. Except borrowers are even unknown to wizards.<p>

Borrowers look completely human apart from their size. A borrower could fit in the palm of your hand. They're called borrowers because they basically live off of humans; they live inside walls, under floors, and in order to survive they 'borrow' what they need. They never take what will be missed, what they don't need, nothing noticeable. And they vow to never ever be seen or heard by the humans. They believe that humans are horribly vicious and will crush a borrower on sight.

One particular young borrower named Skyla had the unfortunate luck of being seen. She had just managed to escape, pack lightly, and run out of the house. It was 2 A.M. and she was already five blocks over on some street called Privet Drive, which was quite a distance for her. She had already decided that the humans on this street were much too clean and orderly and would notice things missing right away.

There was nothing notable about Skyla. She was five inches tall, had long and wavy black hair and blue-green eyes. She was about twenty-one years old, very young to be all on her own. Her mother had died shortly after childbirth, and her father, who taught her to borrow, was caught in a poisoned rat trap. She had dug him a shallow grave, got back up. And prepared to live and support herself. She had inherited her mother's hair, her skinny arms, legs, and fingers, but she had her father's strength and his adventurous personality.

Now she was nearing the corner of Privet Drive, and she was happy to be rid of it, but it began to pour rain.

"Oh, great!" she hissed under her breath. She scanned the street for some kind of shelter, an empty milk bottle or something. Even better, she found an overturned basket in front of Number 4. Admittedly, it was an odd thing to be sitting around, but it was as good as anything.

After an especially fat raindrop splashed on her head and drenched her hair, she ran over to the basket, lifted the edge and ducked in.

There was a large blanket underneath for some reason, but it made the space warm. Skyla un-shouldered her backpack, wrung out her hair, and then threw herself on a knot of fabric near the edge. It was so soft and comforting that she nearly fell asleep at once.

All of a sudden, the faint sound of an infant's cry found her ears. She sat up, listening harder. It was coming from within the folds of her blanket. Curiously, Skyla stood and followed the cries. As the sound got louder and she got closer, her shoulders began to ache. She began to glance around nervously. This type of feeling was common in borrowers and was nearly unique for each; it warned them when a human was near.

She stopped moving and listened for footsteps nearby, but none could be heard. So she turned back and began searching among the blanket's folds.

A borrower-sized baby was revealed, and her feeling flared stronger than ever.

Tentatively but curiously, she picked up the baby and cradled him in her arms. The black-haired baby slowly stopped crying.

'How can this be a human child?' Skyla thought. It just wasn't possible. It _couldn't_ be possible. Could it?

She noticed a thin trail of liquid along the child's cheek from the corner of his mouth. She wiped it off with a finger and sniffed it suspiciously. It smelled of strawberries and some kind of dairy. Hesitantly, she touched her tongue to this mysterious liquid. It tasted like it smelled with a strange aftertaste, like undercooked meat. Why anyone would feed this to a baby baffled Skyla, and she wiped the rest of it on her sleeve. She realized only then that she was absent-mindedly rocking the child.

Skyla stood and the sound of crumpling paper could be heard under her feet. She looked down and kicked away the fabric in the way, revealing a folded up scrap of paper. Curiosity blazing, she moved the baby to her hip and unfolded the note. It read:

"_To the borrower who finds this baby_"—at this point Skyla got chills—"_this baby has been changed for his own good. He is human, but please, raise him as your own. His name is Harry Potter and he is very special._

"_Raise him well. Keep him safe."_

There was no signature.

Skyla looked at the note, then the baby. His large, green eyes looked up at her pleadingly, making her heart melt. She couldn't leave him here. Not in front of _this_ house. She had seen this human family. They wouldn't even see him and he'd get chucked out in the bin. Skyla wouldn't let that happen. She couldn't.

Then she remembered the child was human, and it was humans that killed her father. That she hated humans.

But how could anyone hate something as innocent as a baby? And at this size, he wouldn't be any threat to her. What was she to do? Skyla brushed the baby's raven hair back, conflicted. She noticed the lightning-bolt shaped scar above his right eyebrow. It intrigued her. She reached a hand to touch it, and then she hesitated. She concluded that he was indeed a very special baby.

"You're my son now…Harry Potter," she whispered, pressing her lips lightly to the child's scar.


	2. Ten years later

**I was planning on making updates a week apart, but I'm too excited! ^-^**

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><p>~<em>Ten years later<em>~

Skyla was making lunch over a makeshift oven under the floor of a house in the countryside. Humming to herself, she seemed to not notice the small, skinny boy sneaking up behind her.

Harry Potter stepped silently on his tiptoes, holding his breath, reaching a hand to startle his mother. He was just about to when she said, "Hello, Harry."

The disappointed boy groaned, drawing back. He was _so close._ For some reason, his mother always seemed to know when he was around. Harry had begun to wonder if she had eyes on the back of her head.

Skyla chucked and turned to face him. "Ready for lunch?" she asked pleasantly.

"Always!" the boy answered, taking his seat at the table. The table was a pickle jar lid and a spool and the seats were matchboxes and little wood blocks with cloth over them to make them more comfortable.

Skyla smiled at her adopted son. She still hadn't told him where he came from. It would only upset him now. Well, now that she thought about it, it would upset him anytime. But, she decided it'd be best to tell him when he was older. Not while he was still a child.

She truly loved him with all her heart. He was a very well-behaved child, he loved to smile, and he _really_ loved borrowing. Skyla was teaching him how, as well as the rules about it and what not to do.

Harry was growing into a very handsome young boy in Skyla's opinion. The boy was rather skinny but was faster and stronger than he looked. He had bad vision, but lucky for him Skyla was rather crafty and made him some rectangular spectacles that corrected his sight almost perfectly. He rather enjoyed them. That afternoon, he was wearing a shirt so green that it matched his eyes and pants made from the fabric of an old blue sock. His feet were clad in leather shoes close to moccasins. (Some borrowers that Skyla used to know were very good at making shoes but she liked to keep them simple.) His black hair was cut short by his mother, and neither of them even _attempted_ to tame it, it was so wild. He had grown and was a quarter-inch shy of four inches.

"Today's menu is pea soup with cornbread," announced Skyla, carrying over a thimble filled with the thick liquid. Using a large dollhouse spoon, she ladled a serving of soup into the grateful boy's bowl, then into her own. Then she set out a platter of cornbread, already cut into bite-sized pieces. She sat down and they both ate.

"Mum?" said Harry through a mouthful of cornbread.

"Yes?" As he started to answer, she added, "Swallow first." Harry obeyed.

"You told me yesterday that all borrowers have a 'feeling' when a human bean's around, right?" He looked nervous to ask.

Skyla didn't correct him when he called humans 'beans'. That's what borrowers called humans. So instead, she just answered his question with a question.

"What about it, sweetie?" she said, taking another spoonful of soup.

"Well…how come I don't have one?"

Skyla offered an encouraging smile. "You're only ten, son. I didn't get mine until I was fifteen. It just depends on the borrower. It'll come, trust me." She knew this wasn't true and that humans had no such feeling, but it was worth it to see Harry's smile return. The boy picked up his bowl, spoon forgotten, and finished off his soup straight from the bowl.

"I'm done!" he exclaimed energetically, setting his bowl down. "Can we go borrowing now? Can we?"

Skyla rubbed her chin thoughtfully, taking too long to decide on purpose. Only when the boy was on the brink of exploding did she say, "Okay. Give me your dishes and go wash up."

The boy gave an excited whoop, kissed his mother on the cheek, and ran into the washroom.

Ten minutes later, the boy was following his mother through the dark and long passageways that gave them access to every room in the house. This time, he had bags slung over his shoulder like his mother and had a log hat pin at his side in case of rats (there were several strong gates to keep those out of their home) His mother had one as well.

There were no other borrowers in the entire house, a fact that didn't bother either of them. It meant that the entire house was theirs.

The human beans in this particular house were an elderly couple who were almost never in the house. They lived a very scheduled life: In the morning, they would have breakfast in the dining room, take their medications, and then the old man would whittle and the woman would knit. This would last a few hours, and then they would take a slow walk around the many acres of land that they owned, and then spend lunch and the rest of their day at a house down the lane playing bridge with the couple that lived there and talking a _lot_. They had just left for their stroll.

They also didn't keep the place very tidy, do it was easier to borrow things. Even better, they weren't a particularly nosy couple.

Harry loved borrowing more than anything in the world. He always felt so accomplished when he brought home so many useful things. And his fear of humans sort of gave him a rush. He'd lost count of the times when he and his mother were nearly seen.

They reached a mouse-hole in the dry wall and ducked through, appearing in the humans' sitting room. Harry never ceased to be amazed at the size of everything. It was magnificent and terrifying at the same time.

"Now, remember, stay close to me and do what I tell you," said Harry's mother, whispering even though they were alone. "If you find anything useful, what do you do?"

"Check with you first to make sure it's borrowable." Harry recited happily and without hesitation.

"Good," Skyla said with a smile. "And remember the borrower way. A borrower is quiet, cautious, inconspicuous, alert…" She trailed off so that her son could fill in the blanks.

"Never seen and never heard," said Harry.

His mother smiled. "You're a good boy." She slipped her hand into his. "Come along!" and the two of them were off.

They made their way to the kitchen, picking up bits of loose string and sewing thread, abandoned sewing needles, and other little things that could possibly be of use. Harry was pleased with a stray button that he had found and was considering hanging it on his wall when they got home when his mother laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He looked up and realized they were right at the foot of the kitchen table.

"Let's split up," said his mother. "I'll go up on the table for some sugar and tea bags; you see what you can find down here. Okay?"

"Sure thing, mum," Harry smiled adventurously. This would be the first time he would borrow on his own.

Skyla smiled. "Be careful," she advised before unclipping her hook and line, throwing it over the edge of the table and beginning her ascent.

Harry walked along the hardwood floor, watching for anything that might be of use. He found a rather long bit of string, yet another button (Harry collected buttons, but the ones he collected had interesting patterns or textures or designs on them; he had collected seven so far and kept them in a closet), a paper clip or two and the stub of a pencil. He bagged all of these things to show to his mum later.

"Harry!" Skyla whispered hoarsely from the tabletop. Harry's neck craned to see her gesturing to come up and he quickly raced forward to climb the rope and join his mother.

"Look at this." His mother was standing over a newspaper. An advert was circled in red pen which Harry read once he was close enough.

"What does it mean?" he asked.

"The humans are renting out the spare bedroom upstairs." Skyla's voice was low and very grim.

"But…That's good, isn't it? I mean—more humans mean more borrowings, right?"

"No," she replied darkly. "These humans are very scheduled. We know when they're out, when they're home, when they're vacuuming." Both of them got a shudder. Neither of them liked the vacuum at all. "But a new human, a stranger with an entirely different schedule…That's a big adjustment to make."

Harry's eyes widened in realization, and then they grew even wider when the front door two rooms down opened.

"But I don't understand, young man, I only advertised it this morning—"

Before the old woman finished talking, Harry felt the weight of two tea bags in his arms.

"Go home," whispered his mother.

Suddenly frightened, Harry looked at her pleadingly. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Just go home." She stared into his eyes and gripped his shoulders. "I'll be right there, sweetie." She gave him a quick hug, and then he dashed for the twine rope. Descending as fast as he could, he hurried to an electric outlet that came loose at the slightest tug in either direction. Harry looked back only once to see his mother swing on her string behind the flour jar, and then he replaced the outlet and darted home.

Skyla gathered her rope, wound it into a circle, and clipped it to her hip just as the old human and the new one entered. She peeked around the jar that hid her.

The man was oddly dressed. He wore a tweed coat, suspenders, pants that were a bit short for him, and a bow-tie.

"Wherever did you get all this money for rent?" asked the old woman, setting down a paper bag on the table.

"Stroke of luck. I won the lottery." The young man's eyes were scanning the kitchen, and when his eyes were creeping Skyla's direction, she gasped quietly and quickly hid back behind the flour jar, hoping he hadn't seen her.

"Ah. Now, what was your name again, dear?"

"The Doctor."

"Doctor...?"

"Just the Doctor.

'Odd name for a human,' thought Skyla. She peeked back. The Doctor was sitting at the table, sideways to Skyla and across from the old lady.

"Well then, er, Doctor, shall I make tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." He was still looking around but he seemed to be more interested in a sort of device in his hand under the table. The device was rather odd-looking, much like the man himself.

"Well, that's strange…" said the old woman, peering into the tin that contained tea bags. "There's only one left. I could swear I had more."

Skyla bit her lip. She was _foolish_ to take more than one tea bag.

"Small things going missing," muttered the man. His eyes looked straight at Skyla. This surprised her so much, she froze where she was. "I see."

Thankfully, the old woman didn't notice and the Doctor didn't blow Skyla's cover. He stood and said, "That can wait. May I see my room?"

Startled by this sudden question, the old lady recovered and said, "Yes, dear, right this way." She exited first, and the Doctor pocketed the thing he had been holding. Looking back at Skyla, he winked and left.

Skyla was very shocked. He had seen her. Why hadn't he done her in? Wasn't that what humans did?

Her thoughts raced back to Harry, and she swiftly dropped to the floor and hurried home.

Harry was sitting silently in his bedroom, fiddling with his fingers nervously. He tried distracting himself by counting the number of red squares on his walls. They were papered with white and black checker-boarded patterned paper. The bed on which he sat was made by his mother: frame, mattress, pillows and comforter. He also had a desk in the corner near his closet, and an entire wall with just decorations like postage stamps and the most unique buttons. There was also a window, behind which was a picture of a beautiful outside view.

He gasped when he heard the front door open. He jumped up and ran out of his room. "Mother!" he cried, meeting her in the foyer and embraced her when he saw that she was unharmed. She hugged him back tightly.

"What happened? Did you see the new bean?" the boy asked.

Skyla hesitated. She didn't want to frighten him by telling him she had been seen by the bean. After all, she was the one who had always told him to never ever _ever_ be seen.

"It doesn't matter. But we're going to have to lay low for a while, especially you. I don't know what I'd do if that bean got you."

"But what about the borrowings?" Harry asked desperately.

"We have enough food to last us a few weeks. That's plenty of time to get acclimated to his behavior, work around him. Until then, we can't go borrowing. I'll just spy on him every now and then, from a distance." Skyla realized she was rambling and abruptly stopped talking. She looked at Harry and, noticing his disappointed expression and hanging head, lifted his chin to look up into her face and brushed back his bangs.

"Look, Harry," she said quietly. "You're my son. I love you. I couldn't bear it if that human hurt you." She embraced him once again. Harry hugged her back.

"I know," he whispered. "I love you, too."

Harry couldn't get to sleep that night. He knew his mother had warned him about the new bean. But now he was more curious than ever. He didn't even know what the human looked like. So, very late that night, he got up, covered his thin pajamas with a dressing gown for warmth, and then snuck out to the long passage that led to the inside of the walls.

It wasn't that he was intentionally disobeying his mother. His curiosity was just overwhelming. He _had _to know.

He was lucky that living nine years in this house meant that he nearly had these passages memorized. He was a bit frightened to be alone in the dark, but he had his pin in case of danger. His heart really began racing when he knew he was near the spare bedroom.

All of a sudden, there was a strange noise coming from the wall to Harry's left. It was a sort of mechanical buzzing or whirring; it was difficult to tell. It went away almost right away, so Harry ignored it.

He finally reached a hole that led to one of the rafters near the ceiling. He looked down, realizing that the room was empty. He groaned quietly to himself and was about to turn back when the door opened. Harry crouched down so he wouldn't be seen. The man was definitely funny-looking, and he held something in his hand. No, he was hitting it against his palm, muttering to it. Harry followed the man as far as the rafter would allow, and he leaned far forward to get a better look.

He leaned too far forward, and his hand slipped. He fell several feet onto the bedside table, and by a miracle he survived, landing on his stomach. All of the air was expelled from his lungs and he coughed trying to swallow air painfully.

He gasped and sat up quickly when the bedside lamp clicked on following that same strange buzzing. The next thing Harry knew, he was being lifted by the back of his dressing gown, and before he knew it he was right in front of the strange man's face.

Frightened beyond belief, Harry threw his arms over his head, expecting to be crushed.

"Oh, look at _you_," said the man gleefully. He sounded like he was referring to an adorable animal. Harry might've been upset about that if he wasn't too afraid to care. He peeked through a gap in his arm at the man. The man raised another hand, possibly to touch the boy. Panicking, Harry took up his hat pin and jabbed into the man's thumb. The thumb that held the back of Harry's dressing gown.

The bean yelped in pain and accidentally dropped the boy, sending him tumbling toward the floor, which was an incredible height for a four-inch-tall boy.

Harry didn't even have time to scream. He just squeezed his eyes shut and prepared himself for death.


	3. Escape

As Harry tumbled toward the floor, he felt some kind of invisible force move him upright. Harry landed on his feet in a crouch. He took a brief half-second to celebrate being alive, fixed his glasses (which had been knocked askew in the landing) then looked up at the human bean, which was holding and inspecting his thumb and occasionally sucking on it.

"Ow. That was _really_ rude!" The human began looking around for Harry. Coming back to his senses, Harry began running for his life. There was a mouse hole on the far wall. Leaping over a shoe, Harry suddenly found himself there. Shocked for a short second, he turned and ran all the way home.

Leaping into bed and pulling the covers over his head, Harry resolved _not_ to do that ever again.

…

For the next week, Harry didn't leave home. Skyla would be gone for ten-minute intervals, but she spent most of her time at home. She had brought a spool of sewing thread and two short pins from her room into the sitting room and had begun knitting a scar (winter was approaching). This was an attempt to seem calm, but the fact that it was nearly 18 inches long after a week showed her nervousness.

Nights were frightening for Harry now. You know how when you were little, in bed on a stormy night? Remember when branches would hit the roof over your bedroom and your wild imagination makes you think it's a monster? Well, it was worse for Harry, because when he heard heavy footfalls overhead he _knew_ it was a monster. A human bean. Now, he had grown up with this noise and normally he'd hardly notice it at all, but now that he had been seen it was terrifying.

Event-wise, the week was simple. Harry didn't tell his mother about being seen by the human and vice-versa.

But by the end of the week, they had run out of food, and Skyla, distracted as always of late, only noticed at breakfast time. She'd have to chance a quick trip for _some_thing. She took a bag made from a plastic grocery bag, told Harry to stay in his room, and left to the kitchen.

She had learned from a three days of watching the Doctor that he was impossible to predict. He went wherever he pleased, didn't seem to have a job that would cause him to leave, and never seemed tired at all. So she had stayed inside the remainder of the week. She just hoped that he wouldn't be in the kitchen right then.

He wasn't. But a skillet had been left on the stove with half an omelet on it. She went right over and began borrowing some of the food.

The Doctor had been leaving out some food until the last second in case any more tiny people came about for a snack. He hadn't seen any, and it had been a week already and he was about to lose hope. Until, that is, he spotted one using a small teaspoon to scoop out bits of egg, onion, and mushroom out of the pan.

Delighted, the Doctor skipped into the nearest empty room and took out his screwdriver. He began to scan, following the signal to one particular floorboard.

Meanwhile, Harry was rearranging the buttons hanging on his wall. They were each hanging on a tiny needle by one of their sewing needle holes, so they were easy to take down and replace. Harry did this every now and then. He had just taken down a particularly large button and was deciding where to put it when he noticed the sound of footfalls getting louder. They approached quickly and stopped right above Harry, He dropped the button and stood perfectly still, staring up at the ceiling with wide, scared eyes. A faint buzzing sound suddenly became loud, echoing through the boy's room and making a few things vibrate. The boy covered his ears, uttering a frightened cry.

As quickly as the noise came, it stopped.

Harry slowly lowered his hands and eyed the ceiling.

There was a sound of something rubbing up against something else, but Harry couldn't see what was making it. He began to move around in circles, searching the ceiling.

Seconds later, a folded slip of paper fell from the ceiling and landed on Harry's bed. Harry gave another startled cry. His heart skipped a beat skittishly as the footsteps started again, but leaving this time.

Harry stood, unmoving and silent, staring at the folded paper atop his bed for a long time. He'd just decided to unfold it when he heard his mother return home. He rushed forward and took hold of the paper. He shoved it under his mattress and hurried to greet his mother and eat his breakfast.

It wasn't until his mother had retired to her room for her afternoon nap that Harry pulled out the paper sat cross-legged on his bed and unfolded it with trembling hands. His heart was racing madly. After unfolding it twice, he read the small, rather neat handwriting:

_Dear Harry Potter_—Harry's insides ran cold at these words—_I'm the Doctor, and I'm the new lodger in this house. Sorry for frightening you the other night, but I thought I should tell you that I don't intend to harm you. I just want to talk, get to know you, and you me.  
>So, if you like, meet me tonight in my room, 1 o'clock. Hope to see you there.<em>

_ The Doctor_

Harry stared into space for a while, and then re-read the note. He knew it would be very dangerous for him to go. He knew he shouldn't and that his mum would strangle him with her bare hands if she found out.

But Harry couldn't help but feel like this human could be trusted. Somehow, Harry knew that the man was sincere—didn't know why, he just knew.

And so, keeping the time with a wristwatch in his lap, Harry promptly crept out of his room, carrying no weapon this time.

The Doctor was sitting on his bed when Harry slowly ducked through a mouse-hole in the corner.

"H-hello," said Harry as he looked up at the man. His voice was very quiet, but the man saw him immediately. He came right over and knelt down on one knee

"Hello, there," said the Doctor with a wide grin. Harry made an instinctive back-step, but stopped himself from running away like his brain was screaming at him to do.

"Rather troublesome, talking at this angle, isn't it? Here." The Doctor laid down his upturned hand to Harry.

Harry gasped and his insides churned uncomfortably. This broke so many of his mother's rules and was downright idiotic. But one glance up at the Doctor's reassuring face and Harry's feet lunged forward. He landed on one knee atop the Doctor's palm.

"There we go," said the Doctor with an encouraging smile. Harry caught his breath when the Doctor's fingers curled upward and he used his other hand to shield Harry. The boy's stomach turned to ice when the Doctor stood.

The Doctor walked carefully, minding the tiny boy in his hand. Sitting down on his bed, he lowered his hand to the nightstand. Harry stood and stepped off, turning to face the Doctor.

"Well then, introductions! I'm the Doctor, and _you_, young man, must be Harry Potter!" The Doctor beamed excitedly and hopped up; he dropped onto the bed on his side. The sudden movement startled Harry and he took two steps back. Swallowing hard in an attempt to moisten his cotton-dry throat, Harry spoke up.

"H-how do you know my name?" he stammered.

"I'm very clever." Before the boy could ask what he meant, the Doctor said, "Really, that's all I know, and you absolutely _fascinate_ me! So c'mon! You, me, let's talk, just us boys." He maintained a childish grin.

Harry wrung his hands nervously. He tore his eyes from the Doctor and aimed them at his feet.

"I…I can't," he answered finally.

The Doctor's eyebrows lowered a bit and his smile became less prominent.

"Why not?" he asked gently.

"I shouldn't even _be_ here." Harry's voice was stronger now, anxious.

"Why?" the Doctor repeated.

Harry turned his face to look up at the Doctor. "My mum warned me about humans."

"Your mum?"

"She told me to stay away!" the boy continued, ignoring the Doctor. "She told me they were dangerous. Monsters!" He took two paces forward, his eyes locked onto the Doctor's. "So why are you stalling? Why this game? Why am I still alive?" Harry spread his arms wide. "Tell me! Why?"

There was a pause between them in which Harry glared up at the Doctor confused and afraid, and the Doctor looked at Harry with sad, contemplating eyes.

"Because," answered the Doctor, "you're very special."

Harry lowered his arms and his gaze softened.

"My mother tells me that. All the time." His eyes watered a bit.

The Doctor's smile returned. "Tell me about your mum. What's she like?"

Harry bit his lip, eyeing the Doctor. He truly _wasn't_ going to kill him. Harry stepped forward to the edge of the nightstand and sat down with his legs hanging over the edge.

"Not much to tell, she's just my mum."

"Well, what does she look like?"

"She's, erm, about an inch taller than me. She's got long black hair, light blue-ish—light green-ish eyes."

"Is she nice to you?"

"Of course!" Harry exclaimed. "Why wouldn't she be?"

The Doctor shrugged. "No reason. So! Why does she hate humans?"

"We all do," the boy answered simply.

"We? There are more of you, then?"

Harry bit his lip and was quiet a beat before answering truthfully: "No, it's just us."

The Doctor nodded. "But in theory, there are more of you in the world, right?"

"Yes, of course." The more this conversation continued, the more confused Harry got.

"So!" the Doctor began again, "Your…kind; do they have a name? What do you call yourselves?"

Harry hesitated. "I _really_ don't think I can tell you that," he said pointedly.

This didn't seem to be the answer the Doctor expected or wanted to hear, but he took the opportunity to turn the conversation back.

"Because your mum told you not to."

"Because I love her and I believe in her." Harry's voice was firm.

The Doctor propped his head on his elbow, his expression unchanged.

"Was she the one who told you all those things about humans?"

Harry was taken aback, not prepared for a question like this.

"Well—I—yes…She did. But she doesn't mean anything by it, and I think she has the right to hate humans. No offense to you or anything, but they did kill her dad."

"Really?" The Doctor's face showed concern. "How?"

Harry paused and realized that _he_ didn't even know.

"I…She never talks about it," he managed.

"What about _your_ father?"

Harry thought hard. A minute passed before he answered, "She never talks about him either." What _did_ happen to his father? He had no memory of him, only his mother. Why did he never come up in conversation?

"I see…" the Doctor nodded. He suddenly sat up and was filled with newfound energy Harry was startled out of his own thoughts.

"Well! You'd better get along to bed. Best not to cross your mum if you're not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning." He helped Harry back to the mouse hole; before ducking in, Harry turned back to the Doctor.

"You won't…tell anyone, right?" he asked timidly.

The Doctor grinned. "Cross my hearts," he replied, crossing both sides of his chest with his index fingers.

A grin flickered on and off Harry's face as he took one last glance over his shoulder at the Doctor. He disappeared into the darkness of the wall.

'Humans have more than one heart?' Harry shuddered at the thought.

Having snuck back into his bedroom, Harry couldn't sleep a wink. He began to realize how one-sided that conversation had been. The Doctor now knew a lot about Harry, but the same couldn't be said vice-versa. How could Harry have not noticed this until now? He contemplated this for a while until, miraculously, he fall asleep.

A few days later, Harry was following his mother through the dimly lit passages within the walls. She had told him that she wanted to show him something, something he hadn't seen in a long time. Harry almost couldn't imagine what it could be; he'd seen nearly every bit of the house.

So they walked through the dark for a while, and then began to scale a seemingly endless ladder of staples. Finally, the boy called up to his mother ahead of him:

"Mum? Are we nearly there?"

"Nope," she replied, stopping her climb. "We _are_ there."

There was a rough obstruction ahead of her, like black sandpaper, and she inserted her fingers into a groove above her head. With a grunt of effort, she pushed it away from her. It swiveled and a sliver of light appeared. Skyla opened it further and the brightness that poured in glared in Harry's dark-accustomed vision.

When the glare faded, Harry realized that his mother was already on the other side reaching out a hand to him. He took it and allowed himself to be pulled up.

Harry had never been there, but he realized this place was the roof. Balancing on the rough, sandpaper-like shingles, Harry took in all the details of the outside world, his mouth agape. The cold winter air blew through his already messy hair, filled his lungs, and sent goose bumps up his bare arms; the pine trees lining the distant dirt road appeared incredibly majestic against the pale blue sky; the green ocean of grass extended nearly as far as the eye could see. Harry could do nothing but stare.

The touch of his mother's hands on his shoulders made him jump. She affectionately rubbed them, warming them. It made him realize his cold the rest of him was.

"Are you cold, sweetheart?" she asked. "I brought coats." Harry could only nod.

Skyla un-shouldered her large bag, releasing Harry's shoulders. From it, she pulled out two coats fitted to their exact sizes. She wrapped Harry in his and put her own on.

"Better?"

Harry nodded again.

The woman smiled, then took the boys hand.

"Come. Let's go farther down. Watch out, though, there's frost.

Harry looked down as he followed her. Indeed, the shingles were patched with thin sprinklings of ice.

The two of then descended the sloped roof until they were nearly to the rain-gutter at the edge. Skyla motioned for him to sit down, and they both just sat admiring the quiet winter beauty.

"Amazing, isn't it? I love this season. It's just so quiet, so…muffled. It gives you room think, to _feel._" Skyla closed her eyes and leaned her back as the few rays of light peeking out of the clouds kissed her cheeks.

"I suppose," said Harry. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself quite as much.

His mother sensed his tone and lolled her head toward him. "How does it make _you_ feel?" she asked, opening her eyes.

Harry hesitated before hugging his knees tight and replying;

"Tiny." And rightfully so. All seemed so huge and faraway to him.

"Really?" She seemed genuinely surprised at this. "I feel like a giant."

Harry's head whirled around quickly.

"Really?" he asked, sounding confused. "How?"

"Well, just look around." She gestured to everything around her. 'The ground has never been so far away from me. The trees aren't quite as tall. And the sky is so close, I can almost touch it."

This newfound perspective suddenly hit harry, and a bubble of warmth rose in his chest.

"The world's at our feet," said Skyla, slipping her hand into her son's. This little bit of comfort put a smile on Harry's face.

"Is that why you brought me here?" he asked. "To see things differently or something?"

"Well, if I'm honest, I brought you up here because I was worried about you." She paused a moment to let that sink in and then continued. "Harry, you haven't been acting…yourself the last few days. You've been more quiet than usual, saying you're too tired to do anything but eat, which you barely do. I thought maybe some fresh air and a brilliant view might make you feel better. But remember, you can always tell me if something's wrong." She said all this gently, not accusingly.

Harry's thoughts whirled. He couldn't tell her about the Doctor. He just couldn't. So he did the most difficult thing he could do to her: he lied.

"I'm fine," he said, forcing a grin. "I mean, I was ill for a bit, but I'm pretty sure it's passed."

So she could be sure, Skyla scooted closer to the boy and tenderly pulled his head to her shoulder. She felt his forehead for abnormal head. It was difficult to tell, what with her hands being a bit cold, so she pressed her lips to the boy's brow (unknowingly on his lightning scar). His temperature was indeed normal.

"Hmm." She frowned thoughtfully and pulled back. Harry felt a twinge of worry. Did she not believe him?

"You're right, you're definitely back to normal," she said after a pause. Harry sighed subtly in relief. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

The boy looked down at his shoes, shifting as though he were ashamed. "I didn't want to take medicine."

This part was a half-truth Harry really didn't enjoy medicine. His mother would pull apart an antihistamine capsule and he'd have to take one of the tiny particles inside with a cup of juice. The juice was meant to stifle the medicinal taste, but it didn't always do that well and Harry would get a little aftertaste in his mouth that lasted a while.

Skyla chuckled, her turquoise eyes twinkling. "You're just like me," she said softly.

Harry turned to smile up at her. For a moment, he seemed to catch a sort of sad glint to her eyes and smile, but it went away so he ignored it.

Just then, two stories down, the front door opened and the two could hear the indistinct voices of humans. They both shot to their feet, but Skyla was quicker to move. Her hand still clasped in Harry's, she carefully but swiftly navigated around the patches of frost to the rain gutter on the edge of the roof. She crouched but peeked over the edge and Harry followed.

The old man and woman were loading their trunk with suitcases, with the Doctor's help. They were having a rushed conversation that neither one of the tiny people could hear.

"What're they doing?" Harry whispered hoarsely.

"It's their anniversary," his mother replied. She looked at him. "Didn't you remember?"

"I knew _that_, but I thought they'd go to dinner, and then Bridge at the Henderson house. Why all the suitcases?"

"Didn't I mention it?"

"Mention what?" Harry met his mother's gaze.

"Well," she began, "The Doctor—that's the new bean's name—gave them a load of rent money on the first day. I overheard them last Thursday talking about going on a Senior Mediterranean Cruise. Should last about two weeks, counting the stops they'll make."

"And the Doctor's house-sitting?"

"Basically, yes."

The old pickup truck rode down the gravel driveway and along the long dirt road into the distance. The Doctor waved them off, and then turned on his heel, straightening his bow-tie, toward the field out back. Harry eyed him, wondering where he was going. As far as he knew, there was nothing back there, just open fields and a forest about half a mile down.

"Looks like he'll be gone a while," said Skyla, standing and adjusting her coat. "Might as well find something special for dinner. And before you ask, it'll be a surprise," she added with a teasing, devilish grin. "Come on, let's go."

"Actually," Harry stood, "Could I stay out here? It's just too beautiful to go to waste."

Skyla nodded. "As long as you can get back okay."

"I promise I will, mum."

With a smile, Skyla disappeared through the loose shingle.

The second she was out of sight, Harry began to scale the slanted roof. The Doctor knew too much about him, and it wasn't fair. If Harry was going to find out who this Doctor was, now was the time.


	4. Lunar Perspective

At the top of the roof, Harry scanned the horizon and saw the Doctor standing near the outhouse about fifty feet away. The Doctor glanced over each shoulder before entering the little shack. After a moment, the air around it seemed to waver, a bit like a television screen with terrible connection, and Harry, who was craning his neck to get a better view, developed a headache. He removed his glasses and gave his eyes a rub.

When he replaced his glasses and looked back, a big wood box that said 'Police' on top stood in the outhouse's place.

Harry's heart gave a startled stutter. He could've sworn that had been an outhouse! He had to get a closer look. Keeping his eyes on the box, he began to descend the shingled roof quickly.

There was one thing he overlooked: the frost.

Almost immediately, Harry uttered a startled cry as he slipped on a patch of ice and went sliding down the slope. Certain he was going to go over the edge and die for sure, Harry clamped his jaw shut and waited for it to happen.

When he got to the edge, however, he stopped.

Frozen a moment, Harry realized he was in the rain gutter. He was alright. He relaxed his tensed muscles and turned to get a better view of the blue box.

Paying absolutely no attention to where he was stepping, the boy didn't realize that the half-dead leaf below his left foot (all of his weight at this point was on his right side) covered the opening to the drainage pipe. As his weight shifted, a sick feeling of falling overcame him. All of a sudden, he was tumbling through a dark tunnel, yelling all the way down.

After what seemed like both an eternity and an instant, the pipe curved and Harry was launched into the air out the other end, landing several feet away in a patch of grass. The boy uttered an "Oomph!" as he landed.

With a quiet groan, he got up and brushed the grime off his pants and coat. Suddenly, the wind picked up and from behind him came a strange groaning or wheezing, soft at first, then it got louder with each moan. Harry whirled around and witnessed the same blue box from before fade in and out of focus and become solid three inches in front of him.

Harry, simply put, was shocked. His eyes were large as they could go and he stumbled backwards when the doors were swung in by themselves.

Harry's jaw unhinged at this point, when he saw the inside. On the outside, it appeared to be no larger than three square feet, maybe four. But this…this was an entire room, and an especially large and unusual one! There was some sort of control panel on a raised glass platform, lights all around, strange humming noises, and at least three staircases that no doubt led to other rooms.

"Well, come on in!" The Doctor poked his boyish head out from behind the column-like structure. He proceeded to dance around it, pulling levers, flicking switches, turning knobs.

Harry found himself climbing up into this impossibly huge box, or whatever it was. It was _incredible_! Absolutely amazing!

"Welcome, Harry Potter, to the TARDIS!" The Doctor spread his arms wide to indicate the entire room, and then went back to the controls.

"Now, I'll just go ahead and say it, I haven't been completely honest with you. But now, it's my turn to tell you a story!" While the Doctor said this, Harry was struggling to climb the few steps that led to the console platform. "One, I'm not human. Two, I'm from space. And three, yes, it's bigger on the inside. It's called a T-A-R-D-I-S, which stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. And she does more than look sexy, this one! So, Harry, brace yourself and hold! On! Tight!"

At the last word, the Doctor animatedly flicked a large lever and Harry (who had reached the Doctor) quickly grabbed the cuff of his pants leg—which was rather short on the man—and held on for dear life. The Tardis shook and lurched and the Doctor, with Harry steadying himself by pressing his feet to the Doctor's boot, did many complicated, spacey-wacey things.

As quickly as it came it stopped, but Harry was determined to not let go until he was sure he was safe.

The Doctor bent down and lowered a hand to the boy.

"C'mon," he said excitedly, "You'll want to see this!"

Hesitantly, Harry dropped onto the Doctor's hand. His heart was racing and his head was pounding. But nothing could prepare him for what lay beyond the door.

The Doctor stopped at the threshold, exchanged a look with the tiny boy in his hand, and clicked his fingers. The door swung open and revealed the white, dusty, cratered surface of—

"The moon." The Doctor grinned at Harry's dumbstruck expression. The boy slowly stood in the Time Lord's hand.

"We've…We've moved," the boy uttered at last. "We're in…we're in space! But that's—that's impossible!" The boy ran both hands through his hair, trying to take this all in.

"Not impossible," the Doctor countered, "Just a bit unlikely."

With a grin, the Doctor stepped onto the lunar surface.

Caught off-guard, Harry quickly gulped in a breath to hold.

"It's alright," the Doctor reassured him, now holding Harry in both hands. "The Tardis has an air shell around us. You can breathe."

Harry exhaled slowly, wondering whether or not to trust this man. He had a huge box that was bigger on the inside, an alien spaceship! He should be frightened for his life!

But then…There was something about this man that made Harry want to trust him. So, with newfound faith, the boy inhaled. Then he exhaled. Then he inhaled again.

Harry Potter was breathing on the moon!

"You ready?" asked the Doctor.

"For what?" Harry looked up at him.

"For this." The Doctor held out his hands and let the boy drop.

Harry yelped, expecting to fall quickly. Instead, he was falling in a sort of slow-motion, He felt like he weighed less than a feather.

When he finally landed, the moon dust buried his feet. He felt like a human child might at their first show. He reached down to grab a handful of the stuff and let it sift through his fingers. It, too, floated noiselessly and easily to the surface. Harry chuckled, realizing that no borrower had ever set foot on the moon. Every step he took was another milestone for all borrowers, and he made sure to take many.

Harry lifted his head to look at the—not the sky anymore, but at the billions of stars in the blackness above him. He had always dreamed of seeing stars like this. There was one blue ball, larger than the rest, and Harry recognized it immediately as Earth.

A strange feeling appeared in Harry's gut. Somewhere, on that planet, his mother was waiting for him. And here he was on the moon, hundreds of thousands of miles away. He realized that he'd rather be on earth with her than on the moon by himself, not counting the Doctor.

"I want to go home," he decided, loud enough for the Doctor hear. He turned to see the man smiling a warm smile down at him. The Doctor nodded.

Back in the Tardis, Harry sat atop the Doctor's shoulder, his head spinning. "Penny for your thoughts?" said the Doctor, looking at Harry while he leaned against the console doing nothing.

"I just can't believe it," Harry breathed. "I was on the moon. I was the first ever borrower on the moon!"

"Borrower?" the Doctor inquired curiously.

Harry's smile stayed where it was. He looked up at the Doctor, knowing somehow that he could trust this man and said with no fear:

"Yes. That's what I'm called, what my people are called."

The Doctor nodded. "I must say; I've heard of many species, many races, many peoples, but I've never heard of borrowers."

"I'm sure you haven't." Harry's voice contained no mockery or smugness.

"Why is that?"

Harry explained the secrecy of borrowers, the fact that they hid from humans and why, and he even told a few stories about him and his mother. The Doctor nodded though all this, listening intently. At the same time, his brilliant mind was working. He had to fix this boy's timeline, but he was so happy in this one. And he still had no idea how the boy had gotten like this.

And then it dawned on him. Of course. The solution was right in front of him.

So, as the Doctor piloted the Tardis back to the earth and said goodbye to Harry for the night, he knew exactly what he had to do.

…

"Harry?" Skyla rapped on the boy's door the next day.

"It's open," the boy called back.

She opened the door, smiling down at her son, who was sitting at his desk with a pencil lead tip in his hand sketching the moon. She pulled over a large wooden spool and took a seat next to him.

"That looks _amazing_ darling!" she said, encouragingly squeezing his shoulder. Harry smiled proudly. He had drawn it from memory.

"Thanks mum." Harry leaned up to peck her cheek and set down his stick of graphite.

"It's nearly lunchtime," his mother informed him. "Tell you what, though, don't get up. I'll bring you something. Whatever you want."

Harry's smile widened. He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach, however. He had the best mother he could wish for, and here he was—well, not exactly _lying_ to her, but keeping certain truths from her. It still _felt_ like lying, though. He didn't feel like he deserved to be brought lunch. But, despite all this, he said: "I'm not too hungry; maybe just some toast and jam?"

"Toast and jam, coming up." Skyla got up and went to the door. "Do you want some juice?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Sure," the boy beamed.

She nodded and shut the door behind her.

Harry stared at his door for a long moment, and then moved to the foot of his bed. He felt so guilty and exhausted from pretending nothing had happened these past few weeks.

"I have to tell her," he concluded out loud. He decided he'd do it when she came back with his lunch.

Harry sat there a few minutes more, trying to work out what he'd say; when he saw that his right hand was still silver from the graphite. He got up and went down the hall to wash his hands.

When he returned from the washroom, he passed by the kitchen, he did a double-take.

The kitchen was empty.

"Mum?" he called. There was no reply.

Harry checked the sitting room, the den, even his mother's bedroom, calling for her the entire time. Finally, he circled back to the kitchen in the kitchen in a panic.

"Mum, where are you?"

Suddenly, he noticed the small bit of paper on the kitchen table. 'She must've left it here for me!' thought Harry. He snatched it up and unfolded it.

_Harry_, it read in his mother's script, _we're out of jam. I'm going to borrow some real quick, maybe get some other things while I'm at it. I'll be right back, sweetheart.  
>Love, mum.<em>

This relieved Harry so much that every single muscle in his body relaxed and he collapsed in a chair. He had thought for a moment that something terrible had happened to her. But she was fine and she would be back soon.

So Harry sat there and waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly two hours later, Harry was pacing the floor frantically. Right when he was about to go out and look for her, the front door creaked open and Skyla stepped into the dim light. Harry's heart jumped into his throat.

"Mother!" he ran to embrace her tightly and he wouldn't let her go for forty-five straight seconds. When he finally did, he looked up into her face and his happiness began to waver. Her eyes wouldn't meet his, her head hung and she had no smile. She almost looked older, but at the same time she looked her age.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Harry asked slowly.

She let out a long breath and finally looked Harry in the eye.

"Harry, I—There's something…Something I need to talk to you about."

_~Earlier that day~_

Skyla had been making Harry's lunch when she realized they were out of jam. She sighed in frustration, ran a hand through her hair, and then glanced at her son's door. She would have to borrow some more. It would be a quick trip, though, she thought. She could afford to leave Harry here for ten minutes or so. What difference did it make?

Skyla's borrowing gear had been thrown into a chair in the sitting room, so she quietly strapped it on, put her hair up in a ponytail, took the empty jam jar, and snuck out. She left a note for Harry, of course, on the table. Soon, she was struggling to open the jam jar in the pantry.

Once she had refilled her own jar, she figured she could take this opportunity to stock up. So she continued borrowing a few crackers, some dry cereal, and a tea bag.

Just as she was replacing the lid to the tea bags' tin, the Doctor happened to pass by and see her. Skyla was too busy closing the tin to notice.

'Aha!' the Doctor thought. Quieting his step, he approached her.

Skyla's back was to him. When, with a grunt of effort, she had closed the tin, she took a deep breath and strolled toward the edge of the table.

"So!" the Doctor began loudly. Skyla stopped walking, but didn't turn or even gasp. She stood perfectly still and let the Doctor finish.

"_You're_ the one I've heard so much about. The mother of Harry Potter." Skyla's brow knit. How did he know about Harry?

She heard a chair scrape the floor and the table wobbled a bit; the Doctor must've sat down at the table.

"Which would be perfectly fine by me," the Doctor continued, "if you were, in fact, his mother, who I know you aren't."

Skyla inhaled deeply. How could he _possibly_ know that? She whirled around and drew her hat pin, holding it up menacingly at the Doctor.

"Oh, come _on_. What is it with you borrowers and these pins?" The Doctor leaned forward and snatched the pin right out of her hand.

"Hey! Give that back!" Skyla made a grab for it, but the Doctor lifted it out of her reach.

"Only if you promise to _not_ use it and hear me out."

Skyla glared up at the Doctor. She definitely _didn't_ like him at all, but this man knew things he couldn't. Things about Harry. She wanted to know how and what. So, through gritted teeth, she growled, "Fine."

The Doctor's serious expression changed in an instant to a childish energy-filled face, complete with wide grin and flashing eyes. He switched the pin to his other hand and held it out to her, holding it by the sharp end.

Skyla took it from his fingers and, with a look of strong dislike, passed it to her other hand and tossed it over the table's edge; it fell to the floor with hardly a sound.

"Thank you," said the Doctor, adjusting his bow-tie. Skyla rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Now, first of all, my name's the Doctor. What's yours?"

"Skyla," she answered tersely.

The Doctor nodded, maintaining that smile. "Well, Skyler—"

"Skyla. Not Sky_ler_, Sky_la_," She said this firmly. Skyler was too human a name for her taste.

The Doctor was taken aback a second, but quickly recovered. "Well, Sky_la_, tell me about Harry."

"Well, I'd say that he's my son, but you somehow know that already," she replied snidely.

"False: he _isn't_ your son."

"How can you _possibly_ even know that?" Skyla shouted. "No human could even know we were here, let alone—"She stopped short. She had suddenly realized that her feeling wasn't there, and she was no more than two feet away from the Doctor. "Oh…" she breathed, smirking a bit.

The Doctor blinked. "What?"

"You're _not_ human…are you?" It wasn't meant as a question.

The Doctor looked her over and pursed his lips thoughtfully. Skyla smirked, knowing she was right.

"How about this?" the Doctor suggested, "An answer for an answer."

It seemed as fair as anything she could suggest, so she agreed, but only if she could go first. The Doctor smiled again, leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers loosely, and let Skyla start.

"How do you know about Harry?" she asked, slowly crossing over to the tea bag tin again.

"I have a machine that contains his database. Plus, I've read the books."

This made Skyla stop for a second to look up at the Doctor strangely. "There are books about Harry?"

"Ah-ah, my turn." Skyla sighed and once again began walking.

"Did you kidnap Harry?" the Doctor inquired.

"No, I did not," said Skyla, confident in her answer. She had reached the tin and was pulling herself up onto it to sit on it. "If you're not human, then what are you?" She removed her backpack and set down her borrowing bags behind her.

"I'm called a Time Lord." The Doctor paused and seemed to study Skyla for how she reacted to that name. She, of course, had no idea what a Time Lord was, so the Doctor cleared his throat. "If you didn't steal Harry, then what _did_ happen?"

So Skyla told him everything about the night she found Harry, from the mysterious note to the liquid on his cheek, from her conflicted emotions of hate and adoration to how she couldn't bring herself to leave the baby where she had found him. "He might've died if I hadn't taken him in. And he seems happy if that's any comfort to you."

Through her entire story, Skyla had kept a constant gaze toward the sunlight streaming in through the window, and once she had finished she looked back into the Doctor's eyes. Instead of projecting emotions of suspicion or indifference, those old eyes—too old to belong to such a young face—made her feel understood. She hadn't felt like that in a long time. The corners of her mouth crept upwards into a smile.

"It's your turn," the Doctor reminded her.

"Oh…right." Skyla thought for a moment. She reviewed the questions she had already asked and considered what she wanted to know. It suddenly dawned on her how quickly this conversation had changed from an interrogation to a pleasant exchange of answers. And then, out of nowhere, she knew exactly what to ask. "Is that bad?"

The Doctor frowned thoughtfully. "Is what bad?"

"That I took Harry in. Is that a bad thing?"

The Doctor sighed, thinking of how to properly word this. "It's a long story," he said finally.

Skyla pulled her legs up and crossed them, now in a position to listen for a long time. The Doctor chuckled quietly and began with the smallest sentence. "You were half-right."

This confused Skyla. "When?"

"When you knew Harry was a human. But there's something else he is, and I doubt you know it any more than he does."

Now, Skyla was completely sucked into the story that the Doctor was building up to. "What's that?"

The Doctor took a deep breath and blew Skyla's mind with three words: "Harry's a wizard."


End file.
